


We Are The Foxes (And We Run to Wonderland)

by GamerAlexis



Series: Welcome to Wonderland [1]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - GTA, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Murder Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-28
Updated: 2015-01-28
Packaged: 2018-03-06 08:48:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3128459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GamerAlexis/pseuds/GamerAlexis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You stand with your hand on my waist line.  It's a scene and we're out here in plain sight.  I can hear them whisper as we pass by."</p><p>"So we went on our way, too in love to think straight.  All alone, or so it seemed.  But there were strangers watching, and whispers turned to talking, and talking turned to screams.  In the end we both went mad."</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Are The Foxes (And We Run to Wonderland)

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by "I Know Places" and "Wonderland " by Taylor Swift.
> 
> It does get quite a bit psychopathic.

Living in Los Santos was like living on the edge of a cliff, dangerous and exhilarating all at once.  Living as a criminal in Los Santos was like falling from an airplane, gut clenching and nerve wracking in all the best ways.  This was the city that turned petty thieves into crime lords.  This was where the drug rings ran rampant and the police force was a joke.  The civilians slept with guns under pillows and under mattresses while teenagers did cocaine runs for quick, easy cash.  Los Santos was flooded with sex, theft, and murder.

For Ray, it was a fucking paradise.  He had come on a whim, looking for easy money and he had found it.  With an easy face and quick trigger finger, he started dealing coke in back alleys and dimly lit clubs.  It wasn't pretty and there were some fucking close shaves with death, but Ray was nothing if a stubborn, fast talking asshole.  He didn't just survive the dark underbelly of Los Santos, he  _thrived_.

Soon, everyone knew about the kid dealing drugs in dark corners.  Kingpins paid him thousands (fucking  _tens of thousands_ ) to get their drug out on the streets, knowing Ray would always make the sale.  Smooth talk here, soft smile there, and he could hook in anyone.  It wasn't easy and it took a lot of time for Ray to gain his title but it had been worth it.  Whispers followed Ray like a second skin.

Ray lost count of how many customers were first timers.  He had gotten into the rush of teaching thrill seeking teenagers how to shoot up cocaine like a pro.  He watched as they became loyal to him and victims of the addiction.  The drugs Ray dealt out had a sweet siren call that was almost impossible to resist.  Watching these  _children_ come up with wild eyes and twitching fingers, begging him for the sweet release, that was paradise of it's own.

Learning to kill came with the job.  Ray carried a gun out of habit.  It was Rule 1 in surviving in Los Santos - Never go anywhere unarmed.  When a couple of crackheads cornered him in an alley, Ray didn't even blink.  The gun was heavy in hand as he fired, shots echoing in the night.  The thugs fell hard on the ground, blood pooling under their bodies.  He took all their valuables (not much) tucked his bloody hands in his hoodie and walked back to his apartment.  Once inside, he stripped down and stepped into a steaming hot shower.

He was shaking like a goddamn leaf.  He could still hear the sound of the bodies hitting the ground, still feel the recoil on his pistol, still smell the gunpowder.  He saw the lifeblood of two men drain onto filthy alley ground then robbed their corpses.  Worse than all of that,  _Ray loved it_.  His body with on fire with the adrenaline and there were sparks of arousal coursing through his gut.

All his life in this city Ray had never felt this much passion or power.  He had fucked and been fucked but none of that compared to  _this_.  It was heady and addicting and Ray would be lying if he said he didn't want to do it again.  He jerked off in the shower and promised to buy himself a better gun.

The first time Ray picked up a sniper rifle he knew this was his future.  Drug dealing was dirty money.  Quick, easy, no strings attached.  It was also unreliable as shit.  Addicts went to rehab or fucking died and Ray lost customers.  Some days he sold over his quota and some days he was lucky to make even one sale.  A freelance sniper, on the other hand, was reliable and in demand.

It took weeks for Ray to turn into Brownman, the best sniper in all of Los Santos.  What started as killing off jilted ex-lovers had become assassinating CEOs of corporations and taking down rival mob leaders.  Ray had become an overnight success with a white mask and pink gun.  He moved from apartment to penthouse suite and knew the world was his oyster.

Predictably, it all went to shit.

Shit being Ryan Fucking Haywood.

Word got around fast in this city.  Everyone knew about the Vagabond, or Mad King as some called him.  He made his mark on Los Santos when he broke into a warehouse, killed everyone there, and left the gang leader mutilated and hanging from a street lamp.  It had been horrifying and beautiful and Ray jerked off to it frequently.  From then on, he kept tabs on the Vagabond, watching him complete jobs with precision and violence.

It was watching an artist in motion.

And Ray couldn't help but want to grab his attention.

He started taking higher level jobs.  The kind of jobs that gave him seven digit paychecks.  The kind of jobs that no one else would take.  He learned how to fight with a knife in close quarters to take down drug warehouses.  He gathered C4 to blow up entire mansions to rubble.  He slit throats of men in plain sight and once shot a target hiding behind a civilian.  Nothing could get in his way and nothing was going to stop him.

* * *

Ray met Ryan at gunpoint in his own penthouse suite.  The skull mask was a thousand times more creepy in real life than on television but Ray could still make out blue eyes, narrowed like ice.  Not to mention Ryan was a literal beast.  Fucking hell, man.  Even with the gun pointed at his forehead, Ray was imagining his hands running over Ryan's broad shoulders, fingers digging into the muscle there while Ryan fucked him deep into a mattress.

"I should kill you," Ryan interrupted his thoughts.

"Then do it."

Ryan's hand twitched, a spasm of muscles, before he sighed and lowered the gun.  His finger remained on the trigger.  Ray had a knife up both sleeves and his pistol strapped to his hip, not to mention the rifle tucked in the kitchen or the shotgun under the sofa.  He'd been around enough to know he could draw faster than Ryan if he had do but fuck he hope he didn't have to.  Killing Ryan would be a damn shame.

"Do you know how many people you pissed off?" Ryan asked.

"Oh, fuck, I don't know," Ray shrugged.  "A lot?  Lost count after a while."

"Christ," Ryan shook his head slightly.  "You are a fucking kid, aren't you?"

"Bitch, please.  I'm 26."

"You've been hired by rival gangs and competing mobs," Ryan said without any preamble.  Wow.  Way to break it to a guy.  "Pretty much all of Los Santos wants you dead.  There's a fucking billion dollar bounty on your head."

Ray's eyes widened and he couldn't help the trill of excitement or the grin on his face.  Not everyone got a damn bounty on their head, much less this big of one.  "A billion?"

"Try ten."

Ray's stomach flipped.  Ten.  Fucking.  Billion.  All for little old him.  And to think that years ago he'd been selling shit cocaine in alleyways.  Ray was always told he had ambition and here he fucking was, the most wanted criminal in Los Santos.  That kind of power went to a guy's head.

"Stop fucking smiling.  They're going to kill you.  Shit, they sent  _me_ to kill you."

That only made Ray smile wider.  He allowed himself a brief moment of hope, that perhaps he had gotten Ryan's attention.  "Then why the fuck am I still standing?  I know you, Vagabond.  The Mad King doesn't leave any survivors."

The gun was up in an instant and Ray responded without thinking.  Ryan's gun pointed to his forehead, his aimed at Ryan's heart.  A stroke of heat curled in his stomach and Ray shivered with the force of it before clamping down on it.  This was not the time to be getting a boner, even if it was over Ryan Haywood.  Fuck, Ray had _some_ standards.  He stepped forward until his pistol was pressing deep against Ryan's chest, the leather jacket creaking under the pressure.  Ryan's hand shifted and the cool gun was against Ray's temple.

Standing this close, Ray could  _feel_ how big Ryan was and it didn't take much to imagine all that mass pressed up against him.  Ryan could probably carry Ray over his shoulder without breaking a sweat.  Behind the mask, those cold blue eyes seemed to widen.  If eyes were the window to the soul then Ray didn't need to see anything else.  He dragged his free hand up Ryan's chest and around his neck.  He curled his fingers around the hair there and Ryan's eyes widened even more.

Fuck standards.

Ray rolled his hips and let a soft moan fall from his lips.  Ryan's hips jerked and even through two pairs of jeans Ray could feel Ryan's erection.  He dropped his gun and grabbed at Ryan's hips with both lands, thrusting against him.  Ryan's eyes shut.  His free hand dropped on Ray's hip, thumb slipping beneath his shirt and rubbing at the skin there.  The gun was still hard against Ray's head.

"Still gonna fucking kill me?" Ray asked through half-lidded eyes.

"Probably not going to kill you," Ryan's eyes blinked slowly open.  His thumb was circling Ray's hip bone in an infuriating, addicting way.  He imagined Ryan was smiling behind the mask.  "The fucking might happen."

"Might?" Ray laughed.  He tightened his grip on Ryan's hip and ground them together, sparks of electricity running up his spine.  "Then I'm not doing my job right."

Ray barely heard the clatter of the gun falling because Ryan was lifting the mask off and holy  _shit_ that is not what Ray expected.  Ryan had a damn pretty face beneath the paint.  Square jaw with scruff, hair pulled back to a loose ponytail, and a smirk that almost had Ray jizzing his pants.   _Fuck_.  Ray barely had time to admire before Ryan was kissing him, long and hard and deep.  Ryan sucked the air from Ray's lungs and dragged his tongue through Ray's mouth.  It was hot and filthy and holy shit Ray wanted Ryan to kiss him forever.  Ray did end up jizzing his pants when Ryan sucked at his neck and palmed his dick.  At least he got to return the favor.

Sticky and panting, Ray peeled himself off with the offer of a hot shower and warm bed.  Ryan gave the most Cheshire cat smile Ray had ever seen and it had no right to look that good and Ray shouldn't be getting hard again.  He wasn't a teenager anymore dammit.  He flushed and Ryan laughed.

There was nothing complicated about that night.  Ryan fucked him in every room on every piece of furniture he owned.  They didn't talk about the ten billion bounty on Ray's head.  They didn't talk about Ryan's job.  They didn't talk about Los Santos or the crimes beneath their belt.  There would be an entire life time of running and of talking.  That could wait.

The next morning Ryan was gone.

* * *

Ray had tried really fucking hard to not think about Ryan.  Seriously.  He should get a goddamn medal for how hard it was not to follow Ryan around.  It wasn't very hard to find out what the Vagabond was doing.  Ray knew where he was all the time.  He thought about it frequently, following Ryan into a dark alleyway, pressing up against him, chest to back and holding him close.  Then Ryan would turn around, push Ray up against the wall, and fuck him right there in plain sight.

Maybe Ray should get a new hobby.

Despite all his fantasies, Ray didn't do anything.  He did his jobs, got paid, and kept his head down as much as possible.  In the course of three weeks, he had to avoid no less than thirteen different assassination attempts.  They were sloppy, ill-prepared, and just plain weak.  For ten billion, Ray thought there would be at least someone who could catch him.

But there was.  And he let Ray go.

He was taking a long walk to the gas station for some chips.  And possibly also to rob the joint, just for shits and giggles.  Though chips were a top priority in his little, impromptu heist.  He walked under the florescent lights, browsing the four little aisles, the pistol heavy in his waistband.  The clerk was distracted with a magazine, not bothering to watch Ray.  Then there was a hand on his waist, pulling him into a tall, broad chest.

"Oh, sweetie, you didn't have to come find me."

Ray's body went cold.  He knew who was holding him, but maybe if he didn't look it wouldn't be real.  Ray must be a fucking idiot, because he looked up straight into Ryan Haywood's eyes.  It was strange to see him without the mask or face paint.  He looked, well, almost normal.  Though Ray couldn't talk much about that.  A normal looking face did wonders in this line of work.  Ryan's eyes were cold and serious as he held onto Ray lightly, small smile on his lips.  Something was going on.

"Sorry, you know me," Ray giggled nervously, playing along.  "I'm the worrying kind."

Ryan's smile went soft (goddamn was that charming or what?) and pulled in Ray for a tight hug, lips brushing Ray's ear.  Ray's knees went a little limp at the feeling of Ryan all around him.  Nearly a month later and Ray was swooning like a princess.

"You're being followed by two assassins," he whispered softly.  "They've trailed you for days now."

"I assume you have a plan?" Ray whispered back.

"Stay with me."

Ryan pulled away, but kept his hand on Ray's waist.  He slowly led Ray out into the streets.  They were pressed up so close that Ray could feel the press of Ryan's gun against his hip.  He kept his head lowered, pretending to have an intimate conversation, Ray realized.

So Ray did something he'd only dreamed about.  He pressed himself up against Ryan and looked up at him with wide, happy eyes.  Every so often he gave a little chuckle, trying to play up infatuated lover.  He should probably be upset with how easy it was.

"Where are we going?" Ray asked.

"A safe house," Ryan whispered back, leaning down to press a small kiss to Ray's cheek.

Ray could practically feel the eyes following them as they walked.  He doubted that anyone knew the danger they were in.  Ray was dying to look behind them and look for the assassins that were out to kill him.  He wasn't so foolish to believe it was a good idea, and forced himself to look up at Ryan.

"A safe house?" Ray repeated.

Lights flashed on them.  A car was revving its engines, heading straight for them.  Ray's heart jack hammered into double time.  Dying by getting hit by a car wasn't on his list of awesome deaths.

Ryan grabbed Ray's hand and pulled him to a side street.  He turned for a second, "Don't let go."

Ray nodded frantically.  Ryan led them to a fence and they jumped over it.  Ray ignored the sound of the car careening towards them.  He ignored the adrenaline pounding through his body.  All he focused on was Ryan's hand in his.

Ryan led the two of them through dark alleys, twisting and turning until they came to a nondescript door.  Ryan flung it open and pulled Ray behind him.  He slammed the door with Ray's body and engulfed him in a heavy hug.

What.  The.  Fuck.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Ray asked, gently pushing Ryan away.  "Dude, you break into my apartment, fuck me on everything I own, ruin me for any other sex, like ever, then never see me for three weeks?  And now what?  You come and save my life from a couple of assassins?!  What the hell man?!"

Ryan's hands touched Ray's face, "Believe me if I say you ruined me too?"

Part of Ray knew that nothing good could come from this, but fuck it all he didn't care.  He had been in Los Santos for a long time and never had anything as good as Ryan Haywood.  If he was going to emulate the whole "live fast die young" motto he was going to do it with pleasure.

"Oh, fuck it, come here," Ray grinned, dragging Ryan down for a hot and heavy kiss.

Ryan only responded with his Cheshire cat smile.

* * *

"We should kill them all," Ray said during breakfast the next morning.

For a little safe house, Ryan had pulled out almost all the stops.  Large bed in once corner, mini fridge and microwave in another, and closet of weapons propped up by the door.  Ryan pulled out their microwaved breakfast burritos and slowly turned to Ray.  His hair was sticking up all over the place.  Ray might even say it was adorable.  He set the plate down on the bedside table and sat beside Ray, who was lounging on the bed.

"That would require us killing every crime lord and drug dealer in the city," Ryan responded.

"I've got a fucking bounty and you've failed your job.  It's literally our only option.  Especially with that stunt we just pulled."

"Could still kill you."

"You'll never find another ass like mine."

"Fair enough."

From there it was easy.  Ray and Ryan were meant to work together.  Ryan had been taking solo jobs because his personality was difficult to work with.  Apparently, sending severed heads as warnings was frowned upon.  Ray blew Ryan in the car after hearing that, dick straining through his jeans.  Ryan had returned the favor when Ray sliced a drug dealer into ribbons.

It was love and lust and everything in between.  They fucked on the floor by dead bodies, freshly murdered.  They'd leave bruises and bites and scratches and scars and it never stopped.  Ray was spiraling down and Ryan was there every step of the way.  They wrapped around each other, guns tucked in waistbands.  A mix of admiration and attraction that coursed through their veins.

How many times did Ray wake up with a severed head wrapped up like a gift on the table?  How often did Ryan allow him to slice into his skin, gentle and gorgeous until they were shaking with need?  How many people did they fuck up to impress the other?

Slowly they took down the mobsters and the drug lords.  The crime syndicates fell one by one and Ray knew he was dooming this city to anarchy.  He didn't give a fuck.  This city was his goddamn playground and he was going to do whatever the fuck he wanted.  Ryan was by his side at every turn.

* * *

A life in Los Santos drove people mad.  The running and drugs and murder.  It was enough to push anyone to insanity.  Ray used to think he was above such insanity, but he rushed headfirst into the king of crazies without looking back.  Whenever Ray had doubts, whenever he worried that this was the end of the line, whenever he panicked that he was losing himself to the insanity that was Los Santos, Ryan was there, blue eyes flashing and Cheshire cat smile on his face.

If Ray thought Los Santos was paradise before, it was fucking nothing compared to Los Santos with Ryan Haywood.

He walked back to their suite, a heavy bag in hand.  Job well done for Ray and a little gift for Ryan too.  They'd been working together for months now and Ray thought it was time to propose.

Or something like that.

Someone was following him.  Ray could see him from the corner of his eye.  A man in black, following him carefully.  He was joined by another and they started whispering, sending suspicious glances at Ray.  He turned down a side street and opened the bag.  The heart was still red and damp, blood oozing from the vessels.  Ryan would love it.

The two whisperers came up to him, their whispers turned to talking.

"He's the one, you know it."

"But if he's here, where's his partner?"

"Do we really want to do this?  You've had some dumb ideas, but this takes the cake."

"We need them and you know it."

Oh great.  Another couple of mob bosses, trying to hire Ryan and Ray.  It wasn't the first time someone had tried to hire them, but it got annoying.  Ray and Ryan were meant to work together.  They weren't supposed to work in a team.  They'd tried it and it had failed.

These fucking idiots.  So arrogant to believe that Ray could just be hired on a whim.  Arrogant to believe that Ryan would conform to their beliefs.  It made Ray sick and angry.  Once, Ray might have just let it go, but not anymore.

Los Santos was his playground, it was his paradise and his wonderland and he would fucking die before giving it up to anyone!

His vision went red and he grabbed the heart from the bag.  It was cold and rubbery and the blood was still slick.  He grinned wickedly and turned around to face the two men.

"You boys want to play with us?" Ray asked, his face contorted as best he could.  He'd been practicing with Ryan.  He tossed the heart into the air, ignoring the splashes of blood on his face.  "Are you sure you can handle it?"

The two mobsters' face went pale.  They backed up, hands held in front of them.  Apologizes and pleads came from their lips and Ray ignored it all.  He pulled out his gun and shot out their kneecaps.  They fell on the ground screaming.  Ray laughed.

"You mob guys are all the same," Ray said, tossing the heart around.  "You think you get Brownman and Vagabond to work for you that this city will bow to you?  Because they fucking won't.  This city belongs to us, goddammit, us!  Don't you fucking come in here all cocky without expecting some kind of resistance."

The pleading began anew as Ray pulled out a knife from his bag.  He tossed the heart carelessly into the bag and flipped the knife.  He was preparing himself to destroy this two men when his phone rang.  It was Ryan.

"Hi, sweetheart," Ray said brightly.  "I'm in the middle of something, do you mind?"

"What kind of something?" Ryan's voice was husky over the phone.

"Two more mobsters thought they could hire us," Ray said easily, circling said mobsters.  "And I'm going to teach them a lesson."

"Oh, talk dirty, baby.  Tell me what you're going to do."

"Well, shit, where do I begin?" Ray chuckled.  "I thought I'd drag them to our favorite warehouse first and tie them up.  I've got my favorite knife right now, thought I'd start with easy torture.  Cut off their fingers, maybe a toe or two.  If they can't listen, then off comes an ear."

"Oh, babe, the things you do to me," Ryan breathed heavily over the phone.

"Then I've got electrical wires hooked up, we'll see how long they can last with that.  I can give them that water torture too, but that's not as fun."

"Keep going," Ryan huffed.

"Are you... are you jerking off?" Ray accused.

"Like you haven't done it before," Ryan teased.  "If you want me to wait, I'll meet you at the warehouse and we can do it there."

"A whole new level of torture, babe," Ray said.  "I'll meet you there in ten."

Ray lifted his gun and knocked out the two mobsters.  It took him fifteen minutes to drag the bodies to the warehouse and Ryan was waiting up against the door.  He looked absolutely edible.  His black shirt was tight across his chest and muscular arms folded, showing off his muscles.  His hair was swept back, casually and he smiled as Ray came up.

They tied up the bodies in the center and set up their tools.  As soon as everything was settled, Ray practically jumped into Ryan's arms.

"Fuck me, Ray," Ryan kissed him hard, pushing him against the wall.  "Fuck me.  Hearing you over the phone.  Holy shit, I want you so much."

"Go ahead," Ray threw his head back, baring his throat.  "Take it all, Rye.  Fuck me hard and don't you fucking stop."

Ryan licked the blood of Ray's face and ripped off his clothes.  They fucked hard and fast on the floor, Ray screaming out Ryan's name until his voice was shot.  He didn't notice the mobsters waking up.  The entire world could fucking end and Ray wouldn't notice with Ryan pounding into him like that.

"Holy fuck!" one of the mob guys shouted out.  "You two are insane!  You're totally and completely mad!"

Ryan pushed in deep into Ray, coming hard.  Ray threw his head back, Ryan's teeth latching onto this throat, biting and sucking the skin there.  He came with a shout, body shuddering before going completely limp.

"Fuck," he breathed.

Ryan kissed him soft and slow as he pulled out.  He stood up over the mobsters with no shame, dragging Ray up with him.  Ray's legs were limp noodles and he had to lean up against Ryan to stand up.  He flashed his trademark Cheshire cat smile and the mobsters quivered.

"Haven't you heard?" Ryan said.  "We're all mad here."


End file.
